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34. Aftermath

Rule 49: Don't ever let your last words be spoken from a place of anger.

Sunday.

Two men woke up side by side, just as they should. They made breakfast and coffee when they woke up, just as they should. They sat at their table, ate, chatted mindlessly, and neither looked at the closed door, not once. Anyone looking, they'd have no idea what was behind that door, they wouldn't think it was important at all, not one bit, because nobody looked. Not once. Not those two. Not a single time.

Or that's how things would have gone, were they not human. That was the trouble, really, they were human, and they couldn't keep their eyes off the door.

Otsuka had walked in the apartment yesterday evening, binned the knuckle-wrappings she hadn't been able to dispose of before, and gone straight into her room. The door hadn't opened since. They had no idea what to do.

They waited a pretty long while, hoping she'd come out for some breakfast, but eleven o'clock came and went without the smallest sign of her.

"She might still be sleeping," Yamada tried to suggest. "It's a lot to take in so suddenly," he rationalised, eyes still on the door.

"Maybe-" Aizawa wouldn't want to get out of bed either, he didn't want to on a good day- "but she still needs to eat."

Minutes later, Yamada rapped his knuckles lightly against the door, a clean plate of hot, buttered toast in his hands. The cosy scent hovered in the air, warm and familiar. "Otsuka?" They didn't want to force their way into her room if she didn't want them there, but they had to get food to her somehow. "Are you awake? I've got some toast here for you."

He was met with hollow silence.

"Otsuka?"

Aizawa joined him at the door. They both wished she'd respond, even if it was just to get them to go away, anything would do. Just so they knew she was alright— not alright, but, alive at least.

"Otsuka, are you there?"

They couldn't imagine how she was feeling, to lose so many friends at once. Two people she knew but didn't really know knocking on her door was probably the last thing she wanted, but they had to find some way to help her through this. Grief wasn't something to suffer alone.

Aizawa knocked on the door, harder than his husband, knowing it was irrational to be gentle with the wood when their next available option was pushing straight through it. "Otsuka, we're coming in, ok?"

They shared a look when there was no response. Maybe she really was still asleep.

They winced at the creaks that burst through the air as they pushed the door open, slowly, giving her time to let her stop them. But there was no resistance and when they stepped into the room, it was to an emptiness. Her bed was made, sheets carefully flattened without wrinkles. The whole room was clean, tidy. They'd worry she stayed up the night cleaning if they didn't know she always kept her room this way. It was unsettling at times. Most teenagers were so messy and it could be annoying but at least it made their spaces look lived in. If not for Otsuka's autograph books arranged on the desk, there was no real proof there was a child living here.

A sheet of paper sat neatly aligned along the edge of the bed.

At library. Have my phone. Don't come.

Yamada ran a hand through his hair and Aizawa sighed. They'd wasted the entire morning worrying over an empty room when there was a grieving fifteen-year-old out on the streets of Musutafu. Not just any grieving fifteen-year-old either, one with a villain targeting her.